


Familiar Ground

by Ember3ye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, alcohol consumption, except they beat the shit out of someone, lea I hope this caters to your matsuhana needs, sexy makki, this is just your basic post-timeskip getting together fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember3ye/pseuds/Ember3ye
Summary: Matsukawa rediscovers Hanamaki, through the beat of a club, through the smoke in his mouth.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 9
Kudos: 151
Collections: matsuhana lol screaming





	Familiar Ground

**Author's Note:**

> this is for Lea, I love you.  
> I really hope you like this ahhh i'm sorry I finished this before lynx mattsun and panther makki made an appearance :>;

"What do you mean, you're not interested?"

Hanamaki hung his head and sighed as the woman sauntered away. He leaned his hands on his hips, shoulders curving in, making him appear shorter. He was still a whole head above most people here. Matsukawa rested a hand on his shoulder. It was higher than he recalled, muscle memory almost causing him to smack his hand into his shoulder blade.

"She just wasn't interested, man. It's okay."

"Geh, I told you I'd get you laid tonight," Hanamaki reminded him, shifting his eyes towards him, slowed by drink. Still sharp enough to pierce through Matsukawa's chest. "What sort of friend am I if I don't live up to my promise, huh? I swear, I thought that story of you single-handedly lifting two bodies at once would get her - I mean, who in hell is that strong? Seriously? That didn't impress her even a little bit?"

Mattsun let his smile out, sliding over his lips as he observed Makki's frustrated hand motions, the shakes of his head. "Some people just aren't into deadlifting, y'know?"

Hanamaki looked at him for an instant, then threw his head back and laughed, a laugh barely audible over the throbbing swells of bass, but one so ingrained in Matsukawa's memory that he heard it anyway. It hadn't faded, not even after nine years. 

He figured he should be worried about that, but he let the concern slip from his mind, simply indulging himself in the sight of Hanamaki's white teeth flashing under the strobelights, his pink lips curving up beautifully into his pale cheeks. Matsukawa always thought that if he touched Makki's skin, it would feel like silk. The stubborn row of pimples along his chin had smoothed over somewhat - Matsukawa could still see their outlines, and smiled wider. He had always thought that they were adorable.

Calming down, Hanamaki glanced back up and tugged on his wrist, leading him through the crowd. 

"Do you see her over there?"

"Hm?"

"The hot one."

That description meant nothing to Matsukawa. He attempted to picture the scene through the eyes of a straight man who definitely still didn't have a crush on his high school best friend gripping his wrist loosely, his palm falling just above the back of his hand -

"The one with the blonde hair."

"Mm," Matsukawa hummed back, and Hanamaki's gaze swept back to him. 

"Not your type?"

"Not really."

"Then what is?"

Mattsun shrugged, and Hanamaki gave him a dead stare.

"You aren't making this easy for me."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to do this."

“Yes, but I know your unconscious wishes,” Makki responded. “That’s what makes me such a good friend.” 

He was too busy scanning the crowd to see the woman eying his profile, cyan dress slinking up over sharp curves, elegant fingers curving around glass with a dark, swirling liquid. It mirrored her gaze, and Matsukawa looked at her as she dragged her vaguely curious stare over Hanamaki, eventually lingering at his face. Mattsun narrowed his eyes, and a second later she noticed him, expression moving from interested to competitive. 

Mattsun didn’t falter, resting a hand on Hanamaki’s shoulder. She lifted her eyebrows, uncrossing her bare legs and slipping down off the stool. 

“Hey - maybe…” 

Makki was talking still, Mattsun half-listening, attention trained on how the woman was weaving through the flowing crowd. 

He caught her eye again, and this time drew his whole arm around Hanamaki’s shoulders. She paused, eyelashes flickering down to Hanamaki, measuring his reaction. Matsukawa gently curled his fingers around Makki's opposite arm, appreciating the hard muscle underneath his shirt, hoping Makki didn't shrug him off. 

“Hm?” Makki looked up at Mattsun, who gave him a half-smile. 

“Needed to rest my arm.” 

Hanamaki leaned into Mattsun, just slightly. He made no move to shift his arm. “Lazy bastard.” 

Matsukawa cast his gaze over towards her, painted mouth slipping into a displeased pout. She turned on her heel, shoulders dipping, and he almost felt bad. 

“Wanna go get some air?” He lazily gestured to the exit, and Hanamaki shrugged. Mattsun could feel his muscles shifting under his arm. 

“Sure, why not.” 

His arm stayed there until they had to break apart to slip through the door. 

Hanamaki fished around in his pocket, and came up cradling a thin paper cardboard rectangle in his palm. Tapping the end of it, a cylinder popped up, and Hanamaki dipped his head forwards, picking up the cigarette with his teeth. 

Mattsun knocked his head back against the wall, the sticky warmth from the club draining away, replaced with a sort of uneasy clarity. For instance, how nicely Hanamaki's lips formed an 'o' around the end of the cigarette as he flicked open his lighter. The light fell back on his face, fading and swelling, outlining the dim shadows below his eyes, the deep blackness below his jawline. It illuminated the sharpness of his nose, features better cut with age becoming more prominent, and Matsukawa felt an odd, tilted sense of nostalgia. It was as if he was seeing teenage Hanamaki overlaid with the man in front of him, each waver of the flame switching back and forth between the weary eyes of a sleep-deprived highschooler and the drained grey eyes of an unemployed adult. 

Inhaling the clear, chilled air, Matsukawa's chest felt poured full of moonlight. 

Something forgotten, something that borrowed light and never returned it. 

The click of the lighter snapped Matsukawa out of his cloud of thoughts, banging the back of his skull lightly on the brick. He really was hopeless, wasn't he?

Mouth dry, he spoke. 

“You smoke now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hanamaki shrugged, gaze sliding away from him. “Being the best person alive is stressful, you know.” 

Matsukawa cracked a grin, putting out an upturned palm towards him. "In that case, you better hand me a cigarette."

"Eh, don't think so. You're supposed to be my wingman too, and you've just been attracting all the girls yourself."

Matsukawa didn't think it was helping that he glowered every time a girl tried to make eye contact with Hanamaki. 

He leaned over, pressing his shoulder against Hanamaki's as he selected a cigarette from Hanamaki’s packet. "I can't help that I'm a walking ray of sunshine. Hot and tall.”

Hanamaki snorted, tilting his head back against the brick. He inhaled. "Yeah. The funeral director is a ray of fucking sunshine. I'm sure that's what people think when you roll up with the hearse."

"Who wouldn't want a dead body taken out of their house?"

"Murderers?"

"They get rid of bodies."

"Not the psycho ones. They keep the heads in fridges and shit. I've watched documentaries about it."

Mattsun patted down his body for a lighter. "I keep bodies in fridges. Does that make me a psycho?"

"Nah. You get paid for it."

Mattsun snorted, dangling the stolen cigarette between his fingers. "Politicians get paid too, you know. Got a light?"

Makki took a long drag, exhaling slow, smoke diffusing into night air. Stray beams of light from the club filtered out the dirty window, illuminating the last chemical particles fizzing on his lips. Catching it between his fingers, he angled the end up towards Matsukawa. 

"You steal my cigarette, and now my fire. What's next? Gonna con me out of my house? You dress like a scammer now anyways."

Mattsun left the cigarette butt in his mouth, lowering his head to press the end against Makki's, letting the flecks of glittering ash fall. He saw Makki's fingers tense, squashing down the middle of his, but he didn't pull away. Mattsun kept his eyes on the glowing ends, definitely not on how nicely Hanamaki's hands were structured, long and deliberate. He straightened up, eyelids fluttering closed as he breathed in the sweet feeling of relief. 

"I dress like a scammer?"

There was a heartbeat of silence, where Mattsun only heard his own husky inhale in his ears. The driving, relentless sound of drums and bass seemed distant now. 

"What?"

Mattsun glanced over at Hanamaki, realising that his eyes hadn't left him since he'd bent in for the light. "You said I dress like a scammer." 

"Ah-" Makki's gaze flitted away for a moment, then returned, steadier somehow. "Yeah, you look like you'd convince me to invest in a pyramid scheme with a shirt like that. Sorry, man, but it's the truth." 

His face flickered with a smile, the side of his face just catching the edges of the luminous lights, cascading down his cheek. It was like his skin was shimmering, and he began noticing how his cheekbones had sharpened, how sturdy his jaw had become, how he wasn't on the brink of adulthood anymore but in the full thrumming of it. 

Mattsun felt the beat of the club through the brick wall, synchronising with his heartbeat, with the pull of smoke. His lips parted, grey clouds spilling from his mouth.

He was on the edge of saying something, he knew it. He just didn’t know what it was. 

The door opened with a sound of rubber unsticking from rubber beside them. 

“No - no fucking way,” came a slur. “I thought it was you in there, and it was! Or - is. It is you!” 

Turning, Matsukawa saw a man stagger back into the door to close it, the heavy fire door thudding shut. He was about their age, sandy brown hair, one earring studded in his right lobe, a casual t-shirt and blue jeans hanging over his lanky frame. Mattsun didn't recognise him, but Hanamaki clearly did, head raising up, examining him with pursed lips as the guy walked, tilted and skewed, past Matsukawa to him. 

"Ay…. how you've been, huh? Vanished off the radar after you moved, didn't you?" 

He slung an arm around Hanamaki’s neck, and he saw Makki wince away from his face. 

"Yeah. Crazy," he answered, smoking.

“Hm?" Mattsun raised his brow. "Do you know him?”

He lazily pushed off the wall, flicking his cigarette onto the ground between them. With one sure step, he crushed it beneath his shoe. 

“Yeah, yeah, Hiro-kun and I go waaaaaaay back, don’t we?” 

Sleazy words slid from his lips. His sentences reminded Matsukawa of the slime that snails left behind in their wake. 

“Mattsun, it’s fine," Hanamaki sighed out, lifting a hand, cigarette wedged between his fingers. "He’s an old friend.”

“Old friend as in childhood friend or ex friend?” 

Hanamaki’s lips thinned. “Ex friend.”

“So tell him to fuck off.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not doing shit,” the guy protested. “Takahiro, why’d you stop talking to me in high school? I thought I was your best friend.” 

Hanamaki’s jaw tightened, and Mattsun inhaled, an inhale of realisation. 

He knew that this guy’s name was Haga Keiichi. He knew the name from it flashing up on Makki’s phone screen, of Makki making a face at it, from Makki turning his phone over or clearing the notification. 

It had taken Matsukawa a while to gather up the courage to ask - especially as they’d just met, sure they got along, but who was to say that Makki would open up to him? It was only their first year in high school. They had time. Mattsun had time to ask him about it, and he had time to shove the urge to hold Makki’s hand away. 

It had been at the start of second year. 

Mattsun was rereading a passage for the seventh time, distracted by the easy stretch of Hanamaki’s body under the window, how his fingers trailed down the pages of the book before tapping at the formula he was searching for. 

He’d scratch it down into his notebook, one hand propping up his head, looking bored. Mattsun could see the gears whirring behind his eyes, the jack of all trades gambling on the best solution to the problem. The light traced over the length of him, from the back of his pale neck, over the crumpled of his messy shirt, to the ends of his socked feet, outlining bright and bold stripes. 

Seijoh’s Mr. Do-it-all. 

All but Mattsun, it seemed.

Makki’s phone buzzed. Dropping his pen, Hanamaki reached over into the space between them, grasping his phone and tilting the screen up towards him. He let out a “tsk,” and let it fall back down again. Mattsun glanced at the still-lit screen. 

Haga Keiichi.

_you gonna ignore me for another month?_

“Who is that guy?” 

For a moment, Matsukawa thought he’d overstepped. Hanamaki’s eyes flattened, gaze returning to his maths homework, his cheek tensing up in that specific way it did when he was considering his words cautiously. 

He only grimaced, picking back up his pen. “Friend from middle school. Eh, ex friend, I guess.”

Chest tight, Mattsun tiptoed further. “Did you have a fight?”

“Not really.”

Matsukawa frowned, tilting his head. Sensing his confusion, Hanamaki sighed, pressing the nib of his pen hard into the page. Mattsun saw the edges of it crease, ink splaying outwards in an uneven circle. 

“He was just kind of a shitty friend, okay? And he never realised it, and I never said anything, so I can’t really blame him…” 

Hanamaki’s words faded away, staring down at the scribbled equations. 

“At least, I think he was a shitty friend,” he mumbled. “I feel bad for not staying in touch, but… yeah.” 

“Oh.” 

“Mm.” 

“What did he do?” 

Hanamaki chewed on his lip. “He, uh, didn’t do much. It’s probably just me overreacting.” 

“If he makes you feel like shit, you’re not overreacting,” came out of Mattsun’s mouth, too fast for him to feel nervous about it. “Do you think he’d listen if you told him about shit bothering you?” 

Hanamaki sighed, dropping his face into the middle of the maths book. In fact, it was Mattsun’s maths book, because Hanamaki never brought anything if he could mooch off of Mattsun. Mattsun wished he would mooch his body off of him sometime. He shoved the thought aside. That was for another time. 

“Probably not,” he murmured out, then turned his head, looking back at Matsukawa with weary eyes. “How’re you getting on with Japanese?” 

Ah. 

Point taken. 

Matsukawa dropped it, but not without a last word. 

“I’ll block his number for you, or find him and smash his phone, or something,” he offered, and Hanamaki huffed out a snort. 

“Don’t need to do that,” Makki replied. “He’ll give up on his own. Now, tell me how the fuck you’re supposed to see that x is fourteen here.”

Hanamaki was right. Soon after, the texts stopped. The tenseness in Hanamaki's shoulders every time he got a text though didn't pass until months later. Mattsun never asked him specifically about Haga, and he had a sense that Hanamaki didn't want him to. So, he did what he did best and kept his thoughts to himself. 

That didn't mean he was going to allow this guy to drunkenly totter his way back into Hanamaki's life. 

Matsukawa grabbed Keiichi’s shirt, wrenching him away from Hanamaki. The guy spiralled around, wobbling, emitting a shaky laugh. 

“Hey man, what the fuck?” 

“There was a reason he didn’t stay in touch.” Even his own words felt chilling, cold on his tongue. “Didn’t you get the message? He doesn’t want you in his life.”

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the ignition of Mattsun’s words. Keiichi straightened, scowling at Mattsun. 

“What do you know, huh? You’re speaking for him - I didn’t hear him telling me to go away! That seems just a little toxic to me, no?” 

Matsukawa crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s not telling me to stop.” 

“Oi, oi,” the man laughed weakly, desperately looking over at Hanamaki. “Call off your guard dog there, eh? He’s a bit aggressive, isn’t he?” 

He lumbered closer, pushing at Matsukawa’s shoulder. “Are you drunk? Is that it? Because y’know, I’m drunk too, and it’s fine… we can reach a mutual understanding….”

Mattsun glanced back at Hanamaki, who shrugged. His shoulders were tense, his hands quivering just slightly as he lifted the butt of the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. He wouldn’t meet Matsukawa’s eyes. 

"Is the mutual understanding you getting the fuck out of here?" Matsukawa deadpanned.

The man’s scowl deepened. “I’m not doing _shit,_ okay? The fuck you’re so eager to get me out of here for? You gonna fuck each other? Because man, Hiro-kun, I always kind of suspected that you swung both ways, y’know? I mean. . . hell, you dye your hair _pink._ What straight man does that? But - nothing wrong with it obviously, nothing!” 

Hanamaki didn’t respond, leaning back against the wall, eyes lowered and mouth full of smoke. 

Matsukawa grabbed the man’s shirt, steering him back towards the club door. “Now you’re saying shit that isn’t your place to say. Leave.” 

“I’m his oldest friend!" Keiichi protested, trying to rip himself free. "We’ve known each - each other since we were fuckin’ four years old, and you’re herding me out of here like I’m just some asshole? Who are you? Who the fuck are you to him, huh? Because I’m pretty sure I get priority here!” 

Mattsun glanced back at Hanamaki once more, checking. He looked like he couldn't give a fuck what happened to the guy. 

“Hey, Hiro-kun,” Keiichi blabbered, trying to balance on his toes to see him over Matsukawa’s shoulder. “You aren’t offended by what I said, yeah? I mean, it’s not as if you made any attempt to hide your interest in dudes - whoa, did you ever have a crush on me by the way?” 

Mattsun’s eyes shifted over to Hanamaki. “Someone’s got a high opinion of himself.” 

To his relief, he saw Hanamaki smile. “Far too high.” 

He lowered his hand away from his mouth, exhaling more smoke, and his eyes shifted up to Mattsun’s, the first time since Keiichi had stumbled out of the door. He was still smiling, and Mattsun felt like he could do nothing but stare.

Pain exploded along his jaw. 

“Fuck!” He heard Hanamaki’s voice, and through blurred vision, Mattsun saw his hand fall, lit cigarette plummeting to the ground. "Keiichi, what the fuck?!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, regaining a sensation of presence, and straightened, spinning back around to face Keiichi. Hanamaki must've shot past him, because he was already there, up in Keiichi's face, fist balled in the front of his shirt. Keiichi was taller than average, but Hanamaki still had a few inches on him, regarding him with a gaze anyone else would classify as apathetic. 

To Mattsun, it was rage. 

"Hey," Hanamaki said, as flat-toned as ever. "Mind telling me why you hit my best friend?"

"He was being a dickhead," Keiichi spat back. "I can't believe you just let him treat me like that -"

"After how badly you treated Takahiro?" Matsukawa answered, striding forwards to press up beside Hanamaki's shoulder. He rubbed his throbbing cheek. 

Something rippled through Keiichi's gaze - anger, hurt, amplified by alcohol, spurred on by the slow trickle of blood down the corner of Mattsun's mouth. "I didn't fucking treat him badly, I've no clue what you're talking about -"

It was as far as he got before Mattsun's knuckles rammed against his cheek, rocking his head to the side, only kept upright by Hanamaki's tight grip of his clothes. The edge of his lip yielded, then split under Matsukawa's second punch, flesh breaking along the side of his teeth. It felt dirty and satisfying, the dull, wet noise, his yelp of pain.

"Mattsun - Mattsun, the fuck are you doing -"

Matsukawa ignored him. His fist connected into Keiichi's face again. It wasn't enough. His nose wasn't in ragged tatters, his whole mouth wasn't caved in with blood falling over his cracked teeth -

"Issei!"

He felt Makki grab his shoulder, yanking him back with such force that he stumbled backwards. His back jarred against the brick wall, and suddenly he was looking into Hanamaki's furious eyes, his hands pinning Mattsun to the cold cement. 

"What the fuck?"

"He wasn't leaving you alone," Mattsun replied, the words soft on his tongue. "What did you expect me to do? Give him a hug? Drop to my knees and blow him?"

Hanamaki grasped the edge of Mattsun's collar, curling the material around his fingers as he yanked Mattsun closer to him. He’d grown stronger. Mattsun felt his heart throb fast, breathing hot and thick. 

"I don't know if you've noticed," he said, tone perfectly calm to anyone else's ears but Mattsun's.

To Mattsun, he heard the rage simmering in his deep voice, and it rolled down Mattsun's body, the pulse in his neck hopping. "But we aren't in high school anymore, Issei. I've grown my hair out. You wear a stupidly hot button down shirt now. And I can manage my own fights."

Behind him, a shadow moved, and Matsukawa felt his eyes widen, lurching forwards against Hanamaki's weight. "'Hiro-"

A slam shot through the air, so loud and violent he was struck still. The guy crumpled in front of him, and Hanamaki turned back to him, shaking out his fist. Mattsun heard the deep crack of the guy's head off of the concrete echo out through the alley.

"Rude," he commented, the tone of his voice unchanged. "We were having a moment."

Relaxing, Matsukawa felt a smirk sneak onto his lips. "You're a hell of a man, Hiro."

"I'm aware," Hanamaki replied, and his eyes ghosted down the length of Matsukawa's chest. "We both are. It's what makes us such a dynamic duo."

Mastukawa, mouth drying, suddenly felt very grateful that he'd paid attention to his diet and exercise. For the first time this night, he allowed himself to do what he'd been aching to do - he reached out, catching Hanamaki's upper arm, feeling how he'd bulked up, how he was no longer a lanky, elegant boy, but a man, deep and proper. He felt fingers skim along his chin and he dragged his gaze up from Hanamaki's arm to his eyes, hesitating on his alcohol-ridden lips for perhaps a moment too long. 

Hanamaki was smirking, and Mattsun wondered if he was being too obvious. Then he wondered if that was such a bad thing. 

"Hey," he said lowly, trailing his hand down Makki's arm. He stopped at the end of his sleeve, hooking two fingers under the material, pressing them against his pulse. It was beating fast and hard and hot, and Mattsun felt his skin flush in response. 

"Yeah?" Makki murmured, shifting nearer. 

He smelled like cigarettes and sweat. Underneath that though, there was a scent so heavy, so unmistakably Makki, that Mattsun found the courage to say what he wanted to.

"You promised me I'd get laid tonight," Mattsun answered, and Hanamaki raised his brow. He touched the side of Mattsun's collar, smoothing it out slowly, as if mulling over the statement, treating it as an unsaid question. 

"I did, didn't I?" He glanced up at Mattsun through strawberry blonde lashes, the streetlights throwing an orange glow onto his hair, and Matsukawa had never wanted to kiss somebody so badly in his life. 

"Mm," Mattsun hummed, too aware of Makki's hand lingering by the crook of his neck, too aware of how Makki's foot was now in between his, too aware of the weight the air held, as if the smoke they'd exhaled had hung around, solidified, sunk into his lungs.

"I don't think the girls in there are interested much," Hanamaki stated, Mattsun nodding along. "Can't imagine why not."

"They've just got no taste," Mattsun agreed with him. “We’re hot fucking men.” 

Hanamaki snorted. “Damn right we are.”

The inside of Hanamaki's wrist was so soft. He wondered, there, with the coldness of brick seeping into his back and Makki's eyes burning down his front, if the rest of Makki's skin was as delicate, if he would bruise as easily as he did in high school if Matsukawa raked his teeth across his bare body. 

And yet, he couldn't find the bravery to slip his hand a shade downwards, into Makki's hand, couldn't bear the thought of leaning in and Hanamaki jumping away. He would rather stay on the edge of uncertainty forever, existing in the same space as Makki, touching almost enough for him to be content. Almost. 

"I guess I'll have to do something about that, then," Hanamaki said. He sounded as if he was reading a label on the surface, but underneath, Issei felt his voice waver, reflected in the unsteadiness of his hand as he slid his hand around the back of Matsukawa's neck. 

Mattsun felt him apply a little pressure, and he obliged, bending forwards to close down those two inches. His hand finally dropped into Hanamaki's, entwining their fingers. 

Mattsun had kissed very few people before. Once a co-worker had kissed him during a staff night out, and when she'd gotten no response, never brought it up again, making the air unbearably awkward. She had tasted wooden, sticky with lipgloss, saturated in perfume that stuffed up his nose. 

Another time, he had believed that maybe he was over Takahiro, that maybe his heart could be packed up into a cart and trundled down a path of his choosing. He'd dated them for two months, until one day he woke up in their bed, the sunlight streaming through red curtains, glazing a pink tint over their light brown hair. His chest had felt like his ribcage had fractured, bones sticking into his windpipe, and he only stopped himself from crying by forcing himself to look away, shoulders folding in on himself. 

He'd broken up with them the day after. He knew he'd never forget the confusion in their eyes, unable to bridge the disconnect between everything going right in theory and what Matsukawa was telling them.

He missed Hanamaki. He had missed Hanamaki so fucking much. 

He suspected maybe that was why Hanamaki's dry lips, still with the acridness of smoke lingering on them, felt like home. It was familiar, as if they’d kissed before in another universe, as if they were meant to kiss. It started slow. Until Hanamaki's chest was pressed firmly against his and his leg was slipping in between Issei's denim-covered thighs, his hands determined to seemingly weave through his thick hair in every way possible. And Issei returned the passion in kind, sliding an arm around Hanamaki's neck, kissing so close and so deep that his nose was up against the side of Makki's, not wanting to stop for anything. 

Makki broke away for a breath, his lips wonderfully plush, red and used. Mattsun stared shamelessly, gripping Hanamaki's belt buckle. 

"My place," Makki said, voice rough, and he cleared his throat. "Um - if you-"

"Yeah," Matsukawa told him, and pulled him in for another kiss. 

They left just as the guy Makki had knocked out was stirring. 

Mattsun watched as Hanamaki hauled him up by the shirt and gave him another punch for good measure, observing the way the shirt rippled across his back as he pulled back his arm. He never thought he'd been more attracted to anyone in his life. 

“Always wanted to do that,” Hanamaki commented. “He’s an asshole.”

“Eh, he won’t remember it in the morning.” 

“Shame. He might’ve learned something.”

“Never piss off Hanamaki Takahiro?”

Hanamaki grinned. “Something like that.”

By the time they’d reached Hanamaki’s apartment, Mattsun could no longer blame the two drinks he’d had for how dizzy he felt. It wasn’t because of the alcohol how Makki’s fingers scorched against his. 

From the clarity in Hanamaki’s gaze, from how eagerly and surely he was tugging Matsukawa along, he knew that he too had shed his tipsiness. As soon as they reached the stairwell, they were kissing again, kissing under the dead brightness of LED lightbulbs, kissing in the silence of a whole building sleeping. He followed the heat of Hanamaki's mouth, followed where his hands were guiding him, obeying every speechless command with a content hum. 

Hanamaki’s nose pressed into the hollow of his neck, his breath searing his skin. They were coming together, apart, together, Issei’s fingers tracing Takahiro’s back, the depths and swells becoming familiar to him. Makki’s lips stung his neck, his waist warm, damp on the inside of Mattsun’s thighs, shifting, moving. 

“Mm,” Mattsun’s hum filled up the room, then Makki's mouth. “As soon as you punched that guy, you set my loins on fire.” 

He felt Hanamaki huff out an amused breath, sliding into him. "Are we really doing this now?" 

"Yeah, come on-" Mattsun had to trap a moan, stifling it to a deep hum of pleasure. "Tell me some filthy confessions." 

“Issei,” Hanamaki murmured, mouthing at the column of Mattsun’s throat. “As soon as you walked through those doors wearing that shirt, I knew I wanted you between my thighs.” 

“Huh…” He exhaled roughly, his legs tightening around Hanamaki’s hips. “Then what am I doing on my back right now?” 

Makki’s smile was savage. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, and Matsukawa’s back arched upwards with a gasp. “This is pretty great too.” 

Mattsun felt tension melting from his body, looping a thick arm around Hiro’s neck to pull him down into a kiss. 

“Agreed,” he said thickly. “I like to see you doing all the work, Mr. Do-it-all.” 

“Hah, don’t expect this from me all the time,” Hanamaki murmured out, kissing Mattsun’s neck, nipping at the soft flesh. “I can’t wait to be lazy…. but for now…” 

He kissed his way up Matsukawa’s jawline, dragging his teeth across his earlobe, pressing kisses to the side of his cheek. “I’m more than happy to be working.”

“Makes a change,” Matsukawa mumbled back, and Hanamaki let out a sharp laugh, fingers digging into his hips deeper. 

“You’re antagonising me now?” 

A moan swelled up out of the depths of Mattsun, his arms latching closer to Hanamaki’s neck. He’d wanted this for so long, and he was still shit talking him mid-sex? 

“Stop making it so easy for me,” Matsukawa told him, and Hanamaki grinned down at him, kissing him again. 

“I’m not making it easy. I’m perfect. You're lying through your teeth every time you insult me."

"You're shit at maths."

"Shut the fuck up."

Mattsun laughed, and he saw redness infuse Makki's cheeks, highlighting his freckles. Ringing his arms around his neck, he smacked a kiss onto his cheeks, adorning each with a heavy breath. He savoured the feeling of Hanamaki's lean body flush to his, his eyes threatening to close with every thrust, but he wanted to see Hanamaki's face, the curl of his smirk, the heave of his shoulders, the blush on his neck. He didn't know if this was a one time thing or not. But Matsukawa was used to taking what he could get. 

Pulling Makki into a kiss, he held him as close as possible. 

"Was this just an elaborate scheme to find out if I was interested in you?" Mattsun murmured out against Makki's lips, feeling them curve up into a smile. 

"Maybe," Makki mentioned, tugging up the covers. "Maybe not. Maybe it was a hastily thrown together plan after seeing how good you look in black." 

Matsukawa kissed the side of his neck, right on one of his moles. He knew he was self-conscious about them in high school, but from Makki's giggle, he reckoned that insecurity had passed.

“So if I had dressed like a con man in high school, we could’ve done this earlier?” 

“No, I would’ve made fun of you, felt ashamed to be your friend and then ditched you for someone less lame.” 

Makki gazed at Matsukawa, and he felt his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Don’t lie. You’d help me scam people. Starting with Oikawa.”

An almost identical smirk coiled around Hanamaki’s mouth. “You know me so well. That’s actually my ideal relationship dynamic. Con artist and his partner in crime.”

“You’re so romantic.” 

“Did that count as our first date, or can we rob a bank as our first? I think it’d be memorable enough.” 

“Just about," Mattsun affirmed. "I have high standards, you know. You're lucky I like you so much. I don't know if you could afford to be my sugar daddy."

Hanamaki burst into laughter. "Issei, people would pay to get you away from them."

"Once I open my mouth," Matsukawa corrected him, nudging his arm further around Hanamaki's waist. "As long as I stand there and look hot, I wouldn't have a problem."

"Mm. What do I have to do to get you to shut up then?"

Hanamaki's face leered closer to Matsukawa's, a smirk widening his lovely lips. 

They settled into silence, kissing with only the hum of the air conditioner in the atmosphere. It was difficult for Mattsun to kiss Hanamaki, his smile too wide, not budging an inch. 

“So," Makki murmured out, index finger tracing along Mattsun's collarbones. "Do you want to call Oikawa and see if he’ll hand over his bank details? He’s gotta be rich by now. Did you see him on the cover of that magazine?”

“Yeah. Iwaizumi says that his ego has literally exploded."

"So you know what would take him down a peg or two?"

"Robbing him blind?"

"My thoughts exactly."

They grinned at each other for a moment, and then Matsukawa couldn't hold back anymore. Hanamaki's tired eyes were sparkling with moonlight and promise, and Mattsun kissed him again, because he could. Because his hands felt warmer than they had in years, when next to Makki's skin. Because he never felt more relaxed than when he heard Makki's light, half-there chuckle. Because he was finally holding his teenage love in his arms, and his heart had never felt so whole.

Matsukawa pulled back for a second. "We're going to return his money afterwards, right?"

"Absolutely not," Hanamaki replied, and kissed him deeper. 

Mattsun knew he couldn't be more in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading down this far! <33  
> I hope you enjoyed (especially you Lea, you're a genius for that deadlifting pun) Comments are appreciated! ^^


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